


The Three Times I Loved You

by UncleFio



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1910s, 1950s, 1990s, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, M/M, True Love, Tumblr: usukustwiceperyear, UKUS, USUK - Freeform, USUKUS, check the warnings before proceeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UncleFio/pseuds/UncleFio
Summary: Two souls destined to fall in love, three encounters diverted from their purpose. In the first time, we swore our love in the midst of fire, the second we said goodbye in a shooting, and the third time we faced the barrier of abstract disease. Can I love you one last time?
Relationships: 2p!America/2p!England, Alfred Jones/Arthur Kirkland, America/England (Hetalia), Female America/Female England (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	The Three Times I Loved You

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Main characters death, derogatory language, violence, nudity, sexual intercourse and mention of sexual abuse and incest suffered by one of the main characters. Themes of racism, psychological issues and suicide.
> 
> Submission work to USUKUS - Twice Per Year - Opposites.
> 
> Special thanks to Mayumi-chan for revising.

_The primary note_

* * *

The first time I opened my eyes, I was in a grimy world from which they could not see, hear, or allow me to speak. I was in the age of men and I dared to be born a woman. You were too, just like me. But the main difference was in your perception of it, and especially in your smile.

United States, New York, March 12, 1910, my first moment in a metropolis, the smoke from the buildings irritated my face and hurted my chest, I was only 16 years old and had just arrived from Virginia, where the only odor passable of comparison was concentrated on my father's cattle. And speaking of my father, the decision to move between states had been made and given by him, who used his concern for our family and his search for a better life as his endorsement.

Early on the first day, I found myself in a job queue, one of those that could only be served by female hands: washing, ironing and grooming. My name was finally announced by the employer:

"Amelia F. Jones!"

"Yes, that's me."

"American?"

"Born and raised in Virginia."

"Good, good…" The employer checked my documents one last time. "As a rightful american citizen your income would be $12 a week. You can start right away." He proceeded to return my documents and directed me to the inside of the factory. "One of our employees will come to instruct you. Welcome to Triangle Shirtwaist Factory." He greeted me without any expression.

Being inside the factory, it was possible to see a large number of women trapped in a space not large enough to accommodate them all, which was also invaded by machines and tons of clothing. Distraction from this claustrophobic scenario did not allow me to predict a delicate hand approaching my shoulder, making me flinch in surprise.

"Good morning, are you new here? May I help you?" A glimmering and pretty face asked me.

"Yes! I-It's my first day." I answered incertain. "I was waiting for someone to give me instructions."

"So I can help you, after all!" She giggled. "I'm Alice, Alice Kirkland. By my accent you can guess I'm from England."

"Yes, that's noticeable." I reply with my never-ending apatic and monotone voice, I never learned how to smile. "I'm Amelia Jones, I'm american."

"So your wage is far better than mine, then!" She laughed out loud, making the noise echoed inside the factory. What a scandalous laughter! "Come with me! I'm going to show you all around!"

While Miss Kirkland introduced me and taught me about the factory and our functions, I analyzed her with some intrigue, after all our differences were polar. Alice was four years older than me, she was cheerful, talkative, always serving people with a good deal of laughter and good humor, while I was closed, bitter, my face always grim and uninviting. But our asymmetries were not contained only in personality, overflowing to the physical: Alice was thin and short, with long silky blond hair, deep green eyes and thick eyebrows; meanwhile I had to restrain myself with my sturdy body, as well as being tall for my age, dirty short blond hair, blue eyes, and thin eyebrows.

I didn't know for sure, but there was something about her smile, something I had never seen before that had caused such curiosity. I never understood how she could look so happy on a factory floor surrounded by dirt and noise. I just remember feeling that her smile was the closest to the bright sunlight in Virginia.

Several weeks went by and I was already orchestrating my services with mastery and efficiency, which put me in an exemplary position among the workers. It does not take such intellect or study to do my work, however. It was more a matter of physical effort and time planning, of which I can thank my physical size and my experiences on the farm. However, nothing would be possible without Alice. Her teachings, her smile, her calm and zeal were what motivated me inside and outside the factory. I have repeatedly devised a way of thanking her, also wanting to have an opportunity to get closer to her, but my social inhibitions, added with my grim face, prevented me, which led me to a somewhat rustic appeal: A handwritten note. It seems such a small gesture in the face of the immensity Alice was in my life, but it was the only way I could communicate without hindrance.

_ "Dear Alice, _

__

_ I write this note to thank you for all your teachings since I entered the factory. It is my first job in a metropolis, and if it weren't for your orientation, I would not be in a privileged position of which I find myself. I owe you not only the recognition of my abilities, but also the daily encouragement I find within you. Your smile brightens my days and makes me forget the gray world that awaits me outside. _

__

_ Respectfully, _

__

_ Amelia F. Jones." _

In the next night, I chose to stay in the factory and advance my services for the next day. The situation within my household was increasingly worn and delicate. My father got drunk again, my mother stayed in the shadows again, focused on her housework, and my older brother Matthew, submissive and silent as he was, disappeared to work. Or maybe he hadn't even disappeared. Sometimes we thought he was invisible given his weak personality and innocuous expression. These occurrences were what kept me more and more recluse in my work. 

__

Well, back to the factory… I've been packing up the pile of clothes for my line, alone with my thoughts, until I hear a person approach. My body stiffened. My dread of unpremeditated encounters was quite clear. I turned and came across the face that shines all my days.

__

"Alice?"

__

"Amelia? What are you still doing here, dear?" Alice asked worriedly, approaching and touching my face. "Shouldn't you be at home by now?"

__

My face reddened without me being able to stop it, I felt my body getting warm and an uncontrollable smile sprang to my lips.

__

"I-I just wanted to get my work done." I lied, feeling my heart race.

__

"You shouldn't work so much!" Alice smiled and straightened my hair, tucking it behind my ear. "However, it was a good thing to run into you. I would like to personally thank you for your note!" She giggled shyly. "I didn't know you had a way with the written words, I was flattered to know that my help was important to you. You should know that I greatly appreciate our friendship."

__

Those words... hit me. How could such a meek and harmless person have such an effect on me? Alice was…

__

"I'm glad you appreciate my writing." I feel the smile growing on my face and my heart racing. "I hope to get a note back!" I dared to play.

__

Alice smiled broadly and wrapped me in a tight hug, resting her chin on the crook of my neck, and whispered in my ear:

__

"It's a promise."

__

And then she sealed the promise with a quick kiss on my cheek and wished me good night, before disappearing into the shadows of the factory, leaving me unable to stand, and with the world's most awkward smile on my face.

__

In the next morning, I didn't find Alice right away, usually we greeted each other at the gate and walked together to the wash line, which made me slightly disappointed. As I pulled my trolley with clothing, I noticed a pink object underneath the resting piece on top. It was a pink and flowery box, with a cupcake inside and accompanied by a note.

_ "Dear Amelia, _

__

_ I'm afraid I'm not as resourceful as you when it comes to writing, but I hope you enjoy the surprise! I love to cook and I made this cupcake with all my affection. This morning I'll have to go to the drying lane, so I'll be away from you today, unfortunately. I miss you already! Have a great day. _

__

_ With love, _

__

_ Alice. " _

My heart swelled with happiness, overflowing towards my face through a smile. I bit the cupcake and… oh, God… I regretted it bitterly. The cupcake was awful! It was neither sour nor bitter, it was as if it created a new kind of taste for the papillae. Terrible, unpalatable, and wonderful. Because it was made by Alice. All day long, an irreducible smile remained on my lips.

__

Weeks became months, and all this time, Alice and I communicated by notes. The friendly jokes soon turned into flirting attempts, and then changed to small confessions. I loved those notes as much as I longed to see Alice every day. We knew it wasn't the norm, we knew it was wrong, but how can such a wonderful thing be harmful? Whenever we met, my heart would feel complete, the world would gain color, and my face would learn to smile. With her it was the same thing. Alice learned to hear more than talk, felt no longer alone, and her life had new purposes, as she said.

__

I would never forget December 16, 1910. It was already night, and I was picking up the last clothing pieces. Most of the women were gone, and I thought I was alone until I heard a cry of pain coming from the floor above mine. I recognized that voice as usual, and ran towards the sound, rushing to the stairs. I came across Alice propped against the wall, holding her left shoulder, her face contorted and pained.

__

"What happened?" I asked, my voice more altered than I intended, it seemed that I had screamed.

__

"I… went to pull those bloody trousers and the iron bar came loose! It fell over my shoulder" Alice answered me, showing her purple skin.

__

"I'll get the aid case!" I announced before retreating to the south hallway of the factory.

__

When I returned, Alice was already without the top of her clothes, remaining with only a bra. I froze. My whole body warmed more than I could bear. I felt dizzy, but held fast: Alice needed help.

__

I approached with my eyes averted, I could not face her exposed body that way. I opened the case and pulled out a balsam cream and applied into her shoulder. Alice's skin was even softer than I could imagine, but I still couldn't look at her directly.

__

"Why don't you look at me?" She asked in her sweet, confused voice.

__

"Because it wouldn't be appropriate, you have your torso exposed." I said, obvious as it was.

__

"And what's wrong?" Alice laughed despite the pain. "We are women, we are equal."

__

"We're not the same, Alice." My voice was deep and my face rigid.

__

"How can you say that?" Alice looked hurt by my observation.

__

"How can you say we are the same?" I took my hand off her shoulder. "Look at us! You're perfect! Your skin is soft, your hair is silky, you are beautiful! And I... I'm just me. Normal, somewhat brute."

__

"But I don't see you like that, I don't think I'm perfect either." Alice said in a calm voice, holding my hand and pulling my chin up to make me look at her. "To me you're the perfect one." Her smile was more restrained, her eyes downcast.

__

I ended up laughing nervously, feeling my whole face red and my body trembling.

__

"If you knew what I'm feeling, you wouldn't call me perfect."

__

"Then show me. Convince me otherwise." She dared.

__

"I want to kiss you, Alice." I admitted firmly, my insides writhing with many emotions.

__

"So kiss me." Alice smiled once more, approaching me.

__

I couldn't hold back and sealed our lips in a thirsty, passionate kiss, matched by the same will. By Alice. Among the kissing, Alice's hand grasps mine and guides me to the broom depot, a small hidden room, away from the world around us and the rules of our society. There Alice allowed me to touch her in all the ways I had always longed for, and I gave her the same honor. My calloused and rough hand didn't stop me from feeling all the curves, all Alice's insides, and making me meet the full bliss away from Virginia's fields. We surrender, gave ourselves, and confess in each other's arms.

__

"I have loved you since the first time my eyes met yours." Alice whispered to me, after a night together in the depot.

__

"And I've loved you since the first time I ate that horrible cupcake of yours!" I joked, receiving a genuine laugh from Alice and a sweet kiss goodbye.

__

Before we parted that night, I held Alice's hand one last time, firmly, afraid that the morning would get colder. Afraid that everything would change. I just looked at her, uncertain and immobile, feeling vulnerable without being able to express to her everything I felt in the way I always did: through a note. Alice smiled at me, conveying in her expression all the affection and certainty that I needed to keep going. A new morning would come, and with it a new change. I no longer had anything to be afraid of.

__

In the following day, our routine continued as usual. We met at the gate, exchanged our notes filled with affection and intimate words, tapped our service card at the same time, and headed to our respective trolley with clothing waiting for washing, drying and ironing. I could feel a buzz among the employees, but I was blinded by the brightness of Alice's smile, and I didn't pay attention to the subject.

__

The months go by, the buzz increases, then it turned into cursing and rebellion. The employees, like me, were exhausted from the overload of services. However, the factor that culminated in the spark of our revolt, was the administrative practice of sealing the doors of the factory in order to prevent us from leaving at the correct time - which led us to work hours beyond what was agreed. As much as Alice made my days make sense, making me wish I never left that place, it was by common agreement that we were tired of being enslaved.

__

I had managed to save enough money for us to flee to Virginia, or London, or even the most secluded place in the world, as long as we stayed together. But Alice refused to abandon her sick mother, as much as she despised her sisters. I didn't insist, sweetened by her words and her hope that we would find a way and that things would improve somehow.

__

Perhaps that was my greatest mistake.

__

March 25, 1911. A day that New York would not forget. A day that the world would not forget. Alice and I hadn't seen each other as much as we usually do in that morning, we're busy and overwhelmed, but we managed to exchange our notes with swears of love whenever we could. It was almost closing time, when all the workers on the ninth floor found it more difficult to breathe. A strong smell carrying soot floods our working place and a funeral smoke carries screaming.

__

When I realized, the eighth floor had been consumed by fire. The employees tried to open the doors, but as a procedure, they were locked out. Some women smashed the windows, trying desperately to keep the fire and smoke out, but to no avail. Some dared to jump to save themselves, but death would not give us the honor of choice. Some screamed for help in an empty echo. Some had been trampled and crushed. Others burned.

__

As for me, I was looking for Alice.

__

My face was burning, but not as much as my lungs. I was burnt on the outside and cooked on the inside. I screamed for Alice's name, my whole body and soul refused to succumb to my final destination without first meeting her. After moments that seemed eternal, my cry is answered with another, but weaker and fragile. I followed the sound through the pandemonium of the fire. To Alice. I saw my beloved propped up on the door of the broom depot, and I was pulled inside in a quick, inaccurate movement. We were together. In our little Oasis. While the world outside burned to the ground.

__

Our fate was doomed, our hands clinging to each other's bodies, and our hearts beating at the same time. It was the end, we knew it, we didn't have to exchange words to acknowledge it.

__

"There's only one thing that I regret." I whispered weakly in Alice's ear.

__

She gave me a confused frown and I responded it:

__

"I regret not eating your cupcake right now."

__

Alice smiled. It was her last smile. We kissed one last time.

__

"I've loved you in this life, and I will continue loving you in the next one."

The fire culminated in our bodies, alongside the smoke and the rubble. We were reduced to ashes with our loving notes.

* * *

_A second glance_

* * *

"Hey, Willie! Put on some Elvis for a change!"

"Oh, shut up, you!"

"One more coke here!"

"Ollie, table 5! Iced coke and a portion of french fries!"

"But I'm finishing off the cupcakes, Mrs. Anne!"

"Ollie, if you don't serve this table in two minutes, I'm gonna kick your arse back to that shithole in Ireland!"

"Yes, Mr. John. Oh, by the way, I'm from London and-"

"Ollie, one minute!"

I can only sigh. Another busy day at the cafeteria. I took my tray and I went to serve the playful customers of table 5. It looks like they came straight out of a Stanley Kramer movie, you know? "The Wild One". Oh, this movie… handsome guys wearing leather jackets and riding motorcycles around town. The peak of bad boys culture. I must confess, I don't remember the plot, I was too distracted by Marlon Brandon.

Customers are finally served, and I can return to my quiet place in the kitchen. Back to my cupcakes.

The year is 1955, I came to New York the year before. The economy is booming! The pinnacle of the "American Dream" is being experienced by its citizens. The war ended almost 10 years ago and left London in tatters, as you can imagine. God Save the Queen! I hope I don't look like a deserter, after all I couldn't even enlist due to my… condition. Let's say that men like me are not fit to do the work of manly males, and I could no longer bear to be under my parents's roof with conversion therapies and miracle teas, which combined would make homosexuality leave my body. I'm glad I ran away before the chemical castration, I must say.

At last, alone in the kitchen, in my little paradise, where I can dedicate myself to my colorful sweets and pretend that I have complete control over everything, and that it is not too late to start my life. I was lost in my ideal pink world until I heard a commotion coming from the hall. I thought I heard injuries and went in the direction of the den of customers. The table 5 bikers were intimidating a delivery boy, desecrating racial offenses and intolerances against him. My heart sank with the scene, and my blood sped with the neutrality of the people around me. What to expect from the country club?

I took the lead.

"Hey, stop it! Let the boy work!" I shouted angrily, sneaking in front of the delivery boy and picking on the bad ones.

"Get out, dishwasher! Why would you defend a n⸻?"

That word, that bloody word! My insides swirled and my blood bubbled. I wanted to beat them up! Avenge him! But my passive and sentimental nature only gave me the choice to hold back the tears and withdraw from them, helping the boy to collect the goods thrown into the ground, taking them back to the truck.

On the way, I could hear my bosses apologizing to the bikers for my attitude, while they laughed mockingly, uttering more and more injuries. It hurt me so much that I couldn't hold myself anymore and some tears escaped. I thought I hid the leaping tears in time but I was not successful.

"Why are you crying?" The delivery boy asked me. His face was serious and uninviting, he looked angry. His voice was so thick and resonant that it made me shiver.

"Oh… I apologize. I'm easily touched. Please forgive me." I replied with a smile, while I was quickly wiping tears with my apron. "I'm sorry that you have to hear such terrible things."

He laughed, breathing through his nostrils and shrugging carefreely.

"Isn't that the norm? I mean, isn't that what is socially accepted and stimulated?" He replied while placing the last boxes in the truck.

His body was mesmerizing, tall and defined, with the muscles of his arm protruding from his shirt sleeve. So different from my limpy body, I might say, and I had to restrain myself by looking away.

"But still not right." I verbalized in a weak voice.

"Not that it was pleasant, but at least they were not dressed in white clothes and pointed hats. I'm happy to leave without getting shot." He mocked, his serious face showed a shy and pearly smile.

I smiled back, but my gaze was saddened.

"Anyway, I appreciate your help. I hope you have no problems with your bosses." He assured me before climbing into the truck's bodywork. "See you around, boy with the pinky hair!"

"Pinky hair?" I asked confused before putting my hand instinctively in my hair and feeling a strange texture. "Oh no!" I exclaimed before shaking it with my hands. "That's coloring powder! For cupcakes! I don't have pink hair!" I tried to explain myself, embarrassed.

The mysterious boy just laughed and waved his hand, disappearing with the truck on the streets of New York.

I got home later that night, I ended up being penalized by my bosses for my stance against customers, which forced me to clean the cafeteria until it was clinking. 

Oh well… 

Despite the great price I paid for my new home, I had to walk a lot to get there. The bus lines did not serve the area where I lived, as it was considered a risky zone. Which means it was close to the communities of people of color. Honestly, what an atrocity.

I am greeted by the hungry meow of Biscuits, my cat, and soon enough I began to serve him. I have always loved kitchens. Cooking. And one of the things I loved most about my new home sweet home was the view from the window. I had no neighbors, just a house in front of mine, which gave me a full view of the countryside and the stars in the sky. I was just finishing washing the dishes when I noticed a light coming from the window in front of mine.

_ "Am I seeing things? That's not possible..." _ , I thought. The house in front of mine had no residents, and I have never seen anyone circulating there. I could see the shape of a man walking impatiently, until he stops with his back facing my window and starts to undress. Embarrassed, I ducked like I was trying to get away from him. When I got up, the lights were off and the man was gone.

A new day began and I had to get up earlier than usual. I was assigned to open the cafeteria and make the morning preparations. As a punishment, of course. I was tying my shoes at the entrance of my home when I heard two men approaching. I had never seen them around that region and they didn't look very friendly. The two looked at me mockingly, whispering something to each other. The taller one approached, making repulsive hand gestures, as if he were indicating that I should perform oral sex on him.

"What's up, faggot? Is your man not at home?" One of them dared to insult me, stiffening his body in an offensive way.

"Leave me alone." I replied in a whisper and looked down, I was getting up slowly and I thought I could run inside my home.

"Oh, poor thing! Come here!" The other one teased, advancing towards me.

I tried to get into my home but they were faster. They grabbed me around the waist and dropped me on the floor, standing over me, while my face was smashed into the ground.

"And to think that we came here to hunt  _ alligator baits! _ ***** " One of them exclaimed, laughing. "This faggot is even better!"

I screamed, cried, and struggled. I was completely terrified. I didn't know what was going to happen to me and the expectation was as cruel as the act itself.

My panic was rising, until one of them fell beside me on the floor, agonizing in pain with his hand on his head. I heard a blow, louder and stronger near me. The other man, who was immobilizing me on my back, fell into the floor. He seemed to be unconscious.

I was shaking with relief, with dread, with fear of turning around and finding something worse. However, before I could even have a chance to consider my next move, I was lifted off the ground by two strong, steady hands. I felt embraced for a brief moment, until I turned and came across my hero.

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" The powerful voice asked me.

It was him.

"You!" I exclaimed, still shaking and panting. "The boy from yesterday!" I approached, examining his face with curiosity. "You saved me…"

He just shrugged and smiled in the same cool, carefree way from yesterday.

"Don't you dare call me a hero, though. I call this reckoning." He punctuated confidently, swinging the baseball bat in his hand. "And you, you worms!" He shouted at the two fallen men. "Get out of here! Now!"

The two men got up quickly, leaning on each other still bewildered, running and disappearing from our view.

"Heavens…" I sighed, adjusting my clothes, dusting them off. "How could I find you here?"

"Well, I live here." he informed me casually, pointing towards the house in front of mine with his baseball bat.

"Oh my giddy aunt!" I exclaimed, receiving a confused look from him.

"Whose aunt?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing!" I ended up laughing. "It's just a british expression."

"Oh, you're from England, aren't ya? I thought you just spoke in a funny white way." He smirked, placing the bat on his shoulder.

"Oh, yes, sir. I am from London." I was shy for a while before continuing. "We haven't been properly introduced yet, have we? My name is Oliver. Oliver Kirkland!"

I reached out cordially, and he shook my hand with considerable force.

"Allan Jones." He replied objectively, with the same serious face.

"It is an immeasurable pleasure to meet you, Allan." I greeted him, smiling." I'm glad we're neighbors. I'm not alone anymore, after all."

"Like I don't live with enough whities, huh?" He rolled his eyes, but he had a certain affection in his words.

"But I hope I'm the only redhead among them. We are rare, you know?" I returned jokingly, flirting slightly.

"Hm..." He approached me, dismounting me with a deep look while analyzing my face. His perfume was intoxicating… "Well, you are certainly the only redhead with so many freckles and such a thick eyebrow!" He showed his tongue.

"I-I happen to like my eyebrows!" I stammered, intimidated. "Well, keep in mind that freckles are indications of events in past lives!" I raised my posture.

"Past lives?! Oh, damn! Please tell me that you don't believe in this hallucination!" Allan rolled his eyes, stretching with the bat behind his neck.

"Well, in a way. I don't have a religion for sure. I still haven't found out if I'm a protestant or catholic!" I dramatized putting my hand on my forehead. "It's kind of a complicated subject. But... well, I reserve the right to believe in fate. And in souls."

"Bullshit." Allan contrasted skeptically. "But I don't care. Believe in anything you want, I guess."

"And what do you believe, Mr. Red Eyes?" I joked.

"Hey, my eyes are hazel." He smiled, showing his teeth. "It only turns red for scared  _ honkies _ **_*_ ** _!" _

Strangely, I felt a certain flirtation in his words.

"However, to answer your question: I believe in life. I believe in no day but today. In the battle of one morning to another. I believe that we should dream yet we shouldn't stop ourselves in that. We must fight for ourselves and us alone. Society has never done anything good for people with my skin color, Oliver. I cannot afford to dream higher than my simple daily survival. I leave it to people with your skin tone that yearning to try to understand the world around us." Allan argued fiercely. "Since people with my skin color are too busy trying to survive."

The impact of Allan's words were so strong and accurate that I have to put my hand on my chest. I felt my eyes watering.

"Oh… bloody heaven… I have no words, Allan." I felt some tears starting to flow. "I'm so sorry about that."

Allan frowned, as if my posture and reaction were so out of place that I looked like an extraterrestrial.

"Hey, hey… easy…" Allan came over and wiped away my tears.

Allan's hand found mine and I could clearly see the polar contrast of our colours. We were like the two extreme sides of a bridge that would never be crossed. I was so pale and he was so coloured. My skin was infested with freckles, as for his, well, I couldn't help but notice some scars on his hand, which went up to his arm, across his neck and face. Life had written in Allan all the hardships he had ever faced.

After a considerable time, Allan released my hand. It was strange… the heat from his palm transmitted an energy, as if it were an electrical pulse for my body. I felt my face flush.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to leave you like this." Allan excused himself by looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. "But also, you are so damn sensitive, Oliver!" His smirk seemed forced. "I know it mustn't be easy for you, either, right?" He asked, looking deep into my eyes.

"What do you mean?" I asked back with furrowed brows and wet eyes.

"Well... you're  _ queer, _ right?"

My heart raced, the extremities of my body froze, and that bloody cold sweat ran down my forehead. I held on to keep from crying, hoping he wouldn't notice that I was shaking. Please… don't use that word!

"I… I have to go! I'm late for work. See you, Allan!" I fired the words so quickly that I didn't know if Allan could hear them correctly.

I ran out towards the bus stop, my body in a critical state of adrenaline. I could only hear the sound of my name being called by Allan when I was too far away for him to reach me.

My day at work went normally, I served clients, cleaned the room, and cooked cupcakes. Everything was going smoothly, as if my turbulent morning had been just a fraction of a sepia-toned film. 

While washing the dishes, I could hear a certain discussion in the hall. I couldn't identify the sayings or the voices, however I heard the loose phrase: 

_ "Come on, you can go inside. I hope you don't cause any problems like last time!". _

Given these words, two men entered the kitchen, unloading the goods. I didn't pay attention to them, however, focusing on my own service. Until I feel a pleasant warmth in my back and a low, thick voice shooting in my ear.

"Forgive me for this morning. I didn't want to offend you. Can we talk about it at my house today? Come hidden! After hours!" Allan instructed calmly and quickly, moving away from me before I could give an answer.

I turned and glanced at him carrying boxes, leaning against the kitchen door. Our eyes met. It was as if we could communicate in silence. He winked at me before leaving and my wobbly legs almost knocked me over. The effect that Allan had on me was inexplicable and wonderful.

The night finally came and as promised, I headed to the house in front of mine. Allan's house. I knocked only once on the door before I was pulled inside by his strong hands. The movement was very fast, but enough to make me blush. Allan disengages himself from the hug, which lasted a few seconds, and then asks me.

"Weren't you followed?"

"No! Of course not! I was careful!" I started talking, just inches away from his face.

"You better have been. You know what can happen if anyone sees us together." Allan whispered, his eyes sparkled like flames.

"I... I know that." I took a deep breath, my heart was racing.

"You better do, pinky hair!" Allan smirked, walking away from me and heading for the kitchen. "I set some beverages for us!"

I sighed deeply, equally relieved and disappointed that Allan had moved away from me. I thanked him for the drink, sitting in front of him on cushions laying on the living room's floor.

Allan's house was not very furnished or decorated, it seemed that the moving had been made in haste and had not yet been completed. Sitting, facing each other, I could really look at Allan. It was the first time I had seen him without a uniform, the same way he had seen me without an apron. We were so funny in our original form. He was dressed in all black and with a leather jacket, and I was dressed in pinky clothes and one blue bowtie. It seems like we were from two different worlds and I couldn't help but laugh at this.

My laugh made him raise an eyebrow.

"What's it?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing... it's just..." I giggled once more. "It's the first time I see you without the uniform and you look like a member of 'The Wild One'!"

Allan laughed, settling on the pillow and glancing at me.

"And you look like the male version of Glinda the Good!"

"Oh! For me this is a compliment because I love musicals!" I smiled, drinking some more.

"Shocker!" He rolled his eyes. "And I love rock. Not Elvis, obviously." His face contorted with disgust. "I prefer Fats Domino."

"I must admit that this whole bad boy set you are giving really suits you, boy." I giggled, flirting slightly.

He raised his eyebrows with a sly smile.

"And you go well with pink, when are you going to dye your hair again?" He teased, leaning forward "By the way, why do you call me 'boy' all the time? How old do you think I am?"

"Oh, well, you look young. I thought, perhaps, 19?" I answered.

"I'm 22, actually. What about you?"

"I'm older. 26."

"You don't look older. I thought you were my age." He smiled.

"Silly one, you flatter me!" I giggled. "Oh, by the way, since when is this your home?"

"Since my uncle Sam died. Almost a week ago. But I could only move two days ago. My family members are cotton pickers in Virginia, but my uncle was brought here to work in a big house and managed to build this home. When he died, I came running here. I couldn't stand living in my old state."

"Hm…" I listened closely. "Well, I'm glad you moved! I love having neighbors and people to talk to. I can bake some cupcakes for you, if you want."

"I would like that." He smiled. "But no pinky color!"

"Suit yourself!" I smiled back.

We spent that entire night talking, getting to know each other more and laughing together. When the sun was almost up, I gathered all my strength to withdraw from his house. We exchanged glances one last time before I went home. We didn't know what kind of gravitational force was the one that brought us closer to each other, we just knew that we wanted to be together longer, even without saying a word to each other. We just smiled and glanced.

The days pass by and become months, allowing us to get closer and closer, even with the danger of being caught. We knew very well what it would mean if anyone saw two males of different colours hanging out together. It could get us killed. But that didn't stop us from wanting to see each other more and more everytime we could. We usually sneak in Allan's home at night whenever we could. But most importantly, Allan visited me at work daily, unloading goods in the kitchen and exchanging glances with me, without the need of words.

We said our feelings through our eyes.

One day, while enjoying the Sunday morning rest, I woke up with a loud knock at my door. As soon as I opened it, I regretted it. Allan was propped up at my entrance, panting and holding himself with his arm outstretched on my door. Under his black leather jacket, I could see a white shirt, soiled with blood.

"May I enter?" He asked me with a certain irony, trying to hide his pain.

I didn't respond with words and just pulled him inside, placing him on my couch and taking off his heavy jacket before going after the first aid kit.

"What happened?" I asked anxiously, still looking for the kit.

"Wow... your house is all pink. How horrible!" Allan observed with a grimace.

"Can we leave my personal taste for later? What the bloody hell happened to you?" I asked again, breathing relieved to finally find the kit.

I sat on the couch and lifted up his shirt to see. It had a considerable amount of blood and an opened wound that followed through the side of Allan's abdomen.

"I was lightly stabbed by a honky gang." Allan replied, pressing his teeth against his lips when I applied the antiseptic. "I attacked back and I was punching them but the police arrived and I started running. I ran so fast that I managed to lose them."

"Bloody heaven, Allan!" I exclaimed, feeling my eyes water.

"I only came here because... well... It was the first place I could think of." Allan admitted with a whisper. I could see that he blushed slightly, despite trying to hide it.

"It makes me so happy to know that you think of me when you're in danger, bad boy!" I smiled widely, stopping the blood with gauze.

"Ugh, I'm regretting it already. Everything here is so pink!" Allan joked, showing his tongue.

"And you're always so dark!"

"Are you talking about my skin color or…?"

"About your style, bad boy!"

"Oh yeah. Otherwise, I would say that you are so whitey!"

"And you are so heartless!"

"And you are such a crybaby!"

"And you don't know how to cook!"

"And you're so gay!"

"And you are... you are... well, you are so straight!" I replied one last time, suturing the wound and putting the items back inside the kit.

Allan stood up abruptly, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me close.

"And who said that I am?" He whispered against my lips.

"I… I said it." I replied in a weak voice, blushing entirely.

"And you believe in that statement?" Allan got closer and I could feel his lips brushing against mine."

"I have to believe, otherwise…"

"Otherwise what?"

"Otherwise you would break my heart."

Allan kissed me with a burning passion, so rough yet so caring.

"I would never do that. Not to you." He caressed my cheeks, kissing the freckles on my face. "I love you, Ollie. " He whispered in my ear.

"I love you too." I whispered back before he kissed me again.

Allan carried me in his strong arms until I was released in the softness of my own bed. We kissed, allowed ourselves to feel everything we had accumulated for months. Our hands roamed each other's bodies, finding that inexplicable and cozy warmth, as if we had known each other for a lifetime. We allow ourselves to feel each other completely, our exterior and our core. Until the afternoon comes and we rest in each other's arms. No more words needed to be said.

The next morning, we woke up glancing at each other. Smiling like fools. We followed the morning normally, and Allan had his breakfast in my home, eating my delicious cupcakes. It felt like we were living in a magical musical.

Allan said he needed to get his uniform on before he went to work and I wanted to accompany him. When my loved one opened the door, a police car with two officers was waiting for us. Allan turned around quickly, glancing at me with wide eyes.

"Ollie, r⸺"

But he couldn't finish the sentence before he was shot by the police. I hugged him, receiving the bullets too. We fell together in each other's arms.

We knew it was the end, we didn't need words.

We just glanced at each other, saying goodbye one last time.

* * *

_The third chance_

* * *

My alarm goes off, so weak near the sounds of cars and the city and so useless for my insomnia. I turn it off, like every morning, my body tired and restless for another day.

"6am and those damn neighbors are fighting already." I whisper to myself, thinking aloud, no one but me in the apartment to hear my small, routine complaint. I look at the medicine bottle resting on the table next to my bed. Another inefficient heavy drug against insomnia, another night awake.

I get up and start my simple routine. I dress up as usual, clean my glasses and eat something. Before I leave, I look at myself in the mirror. My hair needs a new cut, but honestly, I don't know what suits me. I just rely on this good-looking blond hair, almost a Captain America cosplay. I smile broadly against the mirror, training again.

"Hello! I hope you are feeling welcome. I'm Alfred Jones, your volunteer therapist today. We will have an hour of session but, if necessary, we can extend up to an additional fifteen minutes. Do not worry. Here is a safe space for you. I hope I can help you today." I repeat the phrases with enthusiasm, contagious joy and a beautiful smile, modesty aside, before yawning.

Let the day begin.

Dirty streets, noisy cars, tall buildings and unhappy people, I hope you are feeling welcome to New York, March 3, 1993, a beautiful Wednesday morning and the weather at 33ºF, which means, cold and gray. The exact opposite of Virginia, where I was born and raised until I was 18, until I moved here. 

The stone jungle, only much more wild.

Every day I walk to the Life Support Center, so I can donate a few hours of my day. This is a space dedicated to professionals and volunteers who want to help people struggling and coping with life. Terminal patients, drug addicts, people with mental conditions… or just someone needy who wants to talk. We have two types of assistance: Group and private. Usually, we agree with group service for most people, due to expenses, and we would leave the private sessions to the most challenging ones.

I was in charge of private care exclusively, thanks to my training.

Upon arrival, I was received by the general coordinator of the center, who always handed me the records and took me to my next patient.

"Who am I going to help today, Frank?" I asked with an optimistic smile.

"I wouldn't smile that much if I were you, Al." He responded shaking his head negatively. "This one is… troubled."

He handed me the patient record, and as I read it, more volunteers from the center are arriving. I ended up reading the name out loud:

"Arthur Kirkland." I smiled, looking at the record. "What a strong and beautiful name. Sounds like a king." I commented unpretentiously.

"Ugh, Kirkland?" One of the volunteers complained with a grimace. "This one has already been attended by several here. I think the only thing that would save him is prozac."

"Or heavy drugs." Another one observed.

"Or group hugs." Another one mocked.

"Or maybe he just needs someone who really wants to hear him, and not just more volunteers looking for a good mention in their resumes." I stressed with a serious look, without losing my smile or composure. "By the way, is he waiting for me already?"

"Yes, room 3." Frank smiled at me.

I nodded and headed for the mentioned room. I knocked politely on the door before entering. Upon entering, I came across a white male sitting on the couch by the opposite side of my desk. He was very thin and his hair was dirty blond. His eyes looked up to me when I entered, I couldn't help but to notice the large dark circles under his eyes. That color… his eyes were the most greenish and mesmerizing I had ever seen. Even sitted down, I could tell he was short and looked even smaller in all black punk clothing.

"Sorry I'm delayed. Have you been waiting a long time?" I asked, smiling, closing the door and putting my coat on the table.

"Not much, just a few minutes ago." He looked at me confused. "What time will the therapist arrive?"

"I just arrived, Mr. Kirkland." I smiled with furrowed brows. "I'm your volunteer therapist today. Alfred Jones!" I reached out to greet him.

Arthur, however, remained motionless. He looked me up and down, trying to understand what I was. His face was a mixture of confusion and disapproval.

"No, seriously... what time will the therapist arrive?" He asked again, his voice seemed impatient.

"He already arrived. Here I am." I replied without losing my smile. "I will attend you today, for an hour. It can exceed up to fifteen minutes, if necessary."

Arthur Kirkland laughed scandalously, folding his belly.

"You? Really? The male model from Vogue's cover magazine? With that childish face? Are you even legal?" He asked me skeptically.

"Yes. I'm legal." I felt my smile disappear. I hated it when they didn't take me seriously. "I'm 26. I'm a professional therapist with a degree. And I'm here to attend you."

"26? Wow!" He mocked, opening his mouth and gesturing dramatically. "An adult for sure. Sorry, sweetie, I'm 33 years old. I cannot be attended by someone so much younger."

Before I had a chance to protest, Arthur stood up and left my office. I remained static, looking at the open door through which he had left.

I was about to face the biggest challenge of my career. And maybe my life.

Two days passed after the incident and no news from Arthur. I had a somewhat unfounded feeling that he would return, and I took the time to study his record and prepare for our next appointment. One thing, however, caught my attention and put me on alert.

Arthur had tried suicide twice and was in the watchlist.

On the third day, Arthur appeared at the center gate, demanding attendance. I noticed from afar Frank warning him that I was the only one willing to receive him in attendance. I could see on Arthur's face the disgust of his defeat and our eyes met. He walked towards the door of my office, where I was, and looked at me. I gestured for him, giving him permission to enter while opening the door.

Our first session will start now.

"Arthur Kirkland, it's a pleasure to have you in my office." I greeted smiling, sitting in my chair, behind the desk.

"You know bloody well that I'm only here for lack of option, Mr. Jones." He replied with a closed face.

"I still consider it a victory." I replied cordially. "Well, let's get to the formalities." I settled in the chair before saying. "Hello! I hope you are feeling welcome. I'm Alfred Jones, your volunteer therapist today. We will have an hour of session but, if necessary, we can⸺"

"Could you skip this bullshit?" Arthur interrupted me fiercely, almost shouting. "I'm not new at this." His shoulders seemed to tense, and he gritted his teeth. "And I need help now." He concluded in a whisper.

I'm taken aback at this and proceed to start the clocking. One hour starting now.

"Alright. This is our first appointment and everything I know about you came from a paper that didn't seem useful. With that saying, I would like us to check upon this information together, so we could loosen up a bit. Is that ok?"

"Ok…" He laid back on the couch, breathing loudly.

"Right. Your name is Arthur Kirkland, correct?"

"Yes."

"33 years old?"

"Just like Christ when he died."

"Nice. Can I assume that you had a Christian upbringing?"

"My mother is extremely Christian. Catholic or Protestant, I don't know."

"Hm…" I wrote it down in my notebook. "You come from England, correct?"

"London, yes. The land that is always raining."

"And what is the reason for your coming to New York?"

"For the same reason everyone does."

"And what would that reason be?"

"Art."

"Art?"

"Yes. I'm an artist. Singer. Songwriter. Bass player. I came here following my stupid dreams and hoping I would be someone. Just like everyone thinks they will be when they land in New York City."

"Yes…" I smiled sadly. "We have a reputation of being the den of artists."

"Broken artists." He smiled mockingly. "And broken dreams."

"Maybe you are right. So… what type of art are you invested in?"

"I draw… paint… but my main goal is to be a singer. That I would never be."

"Why not? You're young. Seem talented. You're in the right city, also."

"To be broken, you say?" He laughed.

"Or to be yourself. Be an artist."

"...I don't know."

"It's okay. No one does."

"I bet some do."

"Trust me. The ones that look like they do, are actually just living it. Hoping it will be alright."

"Maybe."

"Yeah, maybe." I shaked my head, smiling. We were loosing up. "So, next topic. Tell me what kind of music you like."

"Punk. Rock. Metal."

"Yeah, I could guess." I joked.

"Are the black clothes giving it away?" He asked with a smile.

"It was a small hint, yeah."

"What else is giving you something away?" He teased.

"Oh…" I guess the tables have turned. "Your earring."

"This one?" The points at it.

"Yeah."

"What are this saying to you?"

"That, perhaps, you enjoy gentlemen?"

"Dear…" Arthur laughed out loud. "You know what they say, huh? Right ear…"

"...right queer."

"It's a shocker that you know that, Mr. Jones."

"It takes one to know one, I'm afraid."

"Really?" He raised one of his thick eyebrows. "I would never guess."

" 'Gay' doesn't have a face, I presume."

"It really doesn't."

"So… since we are on that topic, when did you discover yourself?"

"Oh, darling. We always knew, didn't we? Since a very early age, I suppose."

"Most of us. I can relate to that."

"So… I bet you know…" He breathed in and out slowly. "That... in my record, it says."

"At the age of thirteen." I read, my throat wanting to close so I wouldn't say another word. That was dreadful. "Your dad…"

"Yes." Some tears dropped from his eyes. "I…" His pain is visible. "Why, would⸺ GOD!"

I reached out, giving him some tissues. Arthur cried compulsively, sobbing loudly. I give him time and space to heal himself. After he gave permission, I continued.

"I can't imagine that pain. And I wouldn't lie to you saying that everything will be fine, and that the past has been left behind. I don't believe in erasure. I believe in coping. I believe in you." I assured, looking at him tenderly. "And I believe you are bigger than that. Bigger than your father's monstrous attempt to cure you with abuse."

"And what if I tell you." Arthur turned to me. "That the men I loved or had sex with at some point had his face?"

"Projection." I replied with some casualness. "In bad times, his face appears. But in the moments when you love, in the moments when your happiness is full. He doesn't show up, does he?"

"… I don't⸺"

"He doesn't, Arthur. He doesn't. You can't remember right now because you are at your lowest. So his face, his body, his disgusting touches… it will appear." I breathed. "What I want is for you to fight that face, that man. When you feel you are just a thirteen year old boy struggling, when in reality, you are a 33 years old man who is talented, wiser, stronger and so much bigger."

"But…" He seems to be battling inside his head. "I'm struggling."

"And I'm here to help." I smiled.

Our time was up but I offer the extended 15 minutes. Arthur refused. He had an odd smile on his face. It seemed confused yet relieved? He offered me his hand to shake and I did. A familiar yet strange warmth came through his very cold hands, it surrounded us in a way I have to fight myself to let him go. He looked at me questioning. I have a guess he felt that too.

We continued our sessions, 3 times a week. One hour and 15 minutes every time. I was meeting Arthur inside-out, his whole self, his best parts and the worst ones that he tried so hard to hide from me. But I want to see everything. And I wasn't alone. He wanted too. He wanted to know me and half of our sessions were, somehow, about me. Arthur was so sly, he always found a way to be the one in charge.

He ended up knowing about my sleeping issues, my complex about wanting to be a hero and save everyone, my past bad relationships…

And, as much as I don't want to admit it, I was loving every second of it.

And I was breaking the sacred rule of my job.

I was falling in love.

And this could not end well.

Nine months later, in one of our sessions, Arthur and I were just chatting at one point. He was doing so much better, he gained some weight, the dark circles under his eyes were fading away, and he even started shaving his beard more often. He didn't even mentioned wanting to kill himself or having suicide thoughs anymore. That was a huge win.

"So how are you feeling today?" I asked.

"The best I felt all year." Arthur answered with a shy smile.

"That's amazing. I'm so proud of you." I celebrated.

"I'm  slightly scared, I must admit."

"Why?"

"I have a presentation tonight. I will sing live in a bar. Nothing much, I know."

"Super much." I cheered optimistically. "So, that's amazing. So many great emotions. Why choose fear?"

"I'm a new yorker now. Fear is my life." Arthur joked.

"But you are greater than that, Arthur. I know you are."

"Well, it's easy for you to say. We couldn't be more polar opposites, Al."

"Why? I mean… We have so much in common."

"...Do we?" He seemed stunned by my statement.

"Yeah. We love music, we love games, we love men." I joked. "We are both emotional people. We are proud. We both fight our own battles." I smiled and couldn't control what came next. "It's like we were perfect for each other."

"Oh… I'm afraid you are wrong." Arthur glanced down, looking like he had been punched in the stomach. "Yes, we love music. I love Sex Pistols and you love Dolly Parton. I love chess, you love basketball. You are emotionally optimistic, I'm emotionally damaged. You are proud of yourself, I have pride so I can mask my struggles. You fight well, I take a hit."

In a second, things turned sour. I was petrified. Arthur continued, crying tears I haven't seen in a while.

"You are young. I'm old. You are bright and beautiful. I'm lost and dreadful. I mean…" Arthur shaked his head, looking at my desk. - We are so polar opposites, we even have a desk dividing our sides."

Before I could think straight, I lifted the desk and threw it away. Removing the only barrier that separated us and scaring Arthur momentarily. I went over to him and sat next to him on the couch. I took his hands in mine, looking deep into his eyes.

"You are not old, you are just older than me. You are not lost, you are a survivor. You are not dreadful, you are a dreamer." I smiled, holding back my own tears. "And I think you are beautiful."

Arthur smiled, conveying many confused emotions at the same time.

"Do you really think so? I hope you are not lying, you prick."

"That's my secret, Arthur. I never lie to you."

"That's a very stupid secret." He teased.

"Yeah, I can be stupid."

"Not as stupid as one dream I once had."

"What you dreamed about?"

"Well, I  _ dreamt _ , you stupid american." He mocked and I laughed loudly. "That you and me were in this black space. Surrounded by nothing. I have to say I didn't look my best. I still had my 'depression bear'."

"Oh? That seems interesting." I just noticed that we were still holding hands but I pretend I didn't and carried on.

"Well, yeah… but it got weird."

"Why?"

"Because we kissed."

"Kissed how?"

"Like that."

Arthur brought his face closer, kissing my lips sweetly. He tasted like tea, I tasted like coffee. We were so different yet we always seem to complete each other. It was inexplicable. Our kissing increased and I was laying down on top of him, feeling all of him while his hands were doing the same. I don't know how far we would go if the alarm hadn't gone off.

The session was over. Our kiss too.

I was above Arthur panting in tune with him. We walked away slowly, without breaking eye contact. Until Arthur looked down and laughed sheepishly. I started to laugh together, adjusting my foggy glasses.

"Well…" I started saying.

"Well!" He replied.

"That was… uh…"

"A great session, Mr. Jones." Arthur was holding his laughter.

"Indeed, Mr. Kirkland. I appreciated it."

We started laughing again, until Arthur said goodbye and left the room. Later that night, I saw him again. Singing his heart out in a small bar while playing bass. He was so wonderful. How could I resist?

Three more weeks passed by and our flirting between sessions was only increasing. We talked all the time though phone, dates, and even through pager.

Until one day Arthur is not replying to my texts anymore. He wasn't answering the phone either. He missed one session. Two. Three. I called him all the time, and I came to his apartment twice. I just couldn't find him and it was driving me insane. I even got my insomnia back, something I had already overcome, since I met Arthur.

In the third attempt, I knocked on his apartment door and it opened by itself. I followed inside, calling for Arthur. Inside it was dark and the furniture was overturned, as if someone had fought against it. I walk into Arthur's room and I find him sitting by his window. It was raining heavily that day and Arthur was soaked. He was in a delicate position at the window. A false move would cause him to fall nine floors.

"Arthur!" I shouted.

"Don't come any closer, Alfred!" He shouted back, not facing me.

"Why? I wanna be near you."

"…"

"Arthur?"

"You know I want it too."

"So why can't I be near you?"

"Because I don't deserve it."

"Of course you do, Arthur." I could feel some tears in my own cheek. "You deserve everything that is good in this world."

"Bullshit."

"Arthur…" I whispered meekly.

"I cannot stand this guilt, Alfred." He sobbed. "I cannot stand thinking that I'm a burden to you and you are only interested in me because it's good for your ego. Your bloody hero complex. I cannot stand thinking that you will have my father's face at some point and I would go insane."

"Arthur!" I called him with a steady voice, almost shouting. "Look at me!"

As soon as he did, I asked:

"Do you see me?"

It took a while for him to respond and I felt like I was holding my breath. Then he finally nodded and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"What do you see?" I asked once more.

"A Captain America cosplayer."

"Right! What else?"

"A tall blond with glasses."

"That likes…?"

"Dolly Parton." He almost laughed.

"What else?"

"A prick with some knowledge that is so much younger than me."

"You're exaggerating, sweetheart." 

"Well, you are young, anyhow." He breathed in and out slowly. "Doesn't matter how many times I say we are polar opposites, you always insist that we are alike."

"Because we are."

"No, Alfred!" He almost shouted. "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because I hate myself! If we are indeed alike, that would mean I hate you."

"Do you? Hate me, I mean."

"You know bloody well what I feel about you."

"I don't. You have never said it."

"I'm about to jump out a bloody window, Alfred. Don't make me boost your ego."

"Okay, fine." I breathed and took a step back. "May I say what I feel then?"

"Go ahead."

"I feel gratitude. Admiration. Affection. All those amazing feelings and it is all thanks to you."

Arthur gave me a look. Raising one of his eyebrows.

"And may I say…" I continued. "That I haven't felt like this in a while. But now I do. Thanks to you."

"I don't believe in that."

"Why not?"

"Because that's the main difference between us Alfred: You love life. I just cope with it."

"You couldn't be more wrong, Arthur."

"How?"

"You have said it once, remember? That you use pride to mask your struggles. I use my optimistic way to mask my own fears. My dread of rejection and failure. I'm afraid I will end up alone, I'm afraid I'm not enough, I'm afraid I'm not worth it…"

"...just like me."

"Just like you, Artie."

"How come?"

"I don't know." I laughed. "Maybe it's human nature."

Arthur looked down again.

"Arthur… you created a reality in your head that I was the one saving you but in fact… I felt it was you who were saving me. You gave me purpose. You gave me a reason why I should sleep. So I could dream about you. You gave me a reason to keep looking, to keep fighting. More than my job, or New York, or anyone could ever give!"

"Alfred…"

"You said I love life, Arthur, but you're wrong. I don't. And I don't think anyone truly does. We are all coping."

" ...what…"

"I don't love life, Arthur. I love you. And the meaning you gave my life when I met you."

"I…"

Arthur ran towards me, wrapping me in a wet, hot and very tight embrace.

"I love you too." He whispered against my chest.

I respond by wrapping his lips in mine.

"Just so you know…" I said between our kisses. "That I would never give up on us."

"And I would never let this chance go." He smiled.

_**FIN** _

**Author's Note:**

> *Alligator baits: a black person, especially a black child. First used in the early 20th century, although some hypothesize the term originated in the late 19th century. The term derives from the fact that, during the slave trade, black children and babies were supposedly used as bait by white people in the US in order to catch alligators.
> 
> *Honkies: Honky is a racial slur for white people, predominantly heard in the United States. The term was popularized by black activist H. Rap Brown in the late 1960s. The first recorded use of "honky" in this context may date back to 1946.
> 
> -
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! (:
> 
> If you enjoy it, please leave a review, and if you didn't enjoy, please leave a review letting me know how can I improve.
> 
> If you sang some lines in the third story: I should tell you... I should tell you... that I have always loved RENT!


End file.
